Somewhere Out There
by WhitR
Summary: [pre series] At twenty-four years old, Dean Winchester knows just about every way possible deal with anything that isn't natural. From angry spirits to zombies, he can handle them all. The one thing he doesn't know how to really deal with is the kindness of a stranger. Especially when that stranger saves his life when things go wrong one winter night after a solo hunt.
1. Chapter 1

**I've spent the last few weeks rewatching Supernatural from season 1 to get caught up on some things I'd missed throughout the series as well as to get caught up to where the series is now. While watching the show, this idea for a pre-series story popped into my head. I tried to ignore it, but the evil plot bunny threatened to drive me crazy if I didn't write it. As for the title, it'll make sense a little later in the story.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Feedback will be greatly appreciated!**

_Disclaimer: I obviously don't own anything that's recognizable from the show. _

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It had been two hours since he had finished hunting down a Black Dog and getting rid of it. Two hours since he realized he needed a place to stay for the night. Which normally wasn't a problem for most people, but unfortunately for Dean Winchester, he wasn't most people. He knew he didn't really have the money for a hotel room. Not even the cheapest hotel room he could find.

He was somewhere in the mountains of east Tennessee, and had remembered an old hunting cabin he and his father had stayed at a couple years before when hunting down a Woman in White. It was just another hour up the road. Well, that's what it would have taken any other day. A snowstorm had blown in, taking most of the area by surprise with the amount of snow that fell in such a short time. Dean had barely made it halfway to the cabin in an hour of driving.

The classic rock that usually cranked out from the speakers inside the black 1967 Impala was nearly muted. Dean discovered half an hour ago that listening to the music he loved so much was not helping the headache he had. He tried to ignore the fact he hadn't been on top of his game while hunting the Black Dog. It had taken three days to finally track it down. Not the easiest task in the middle of winter. He had hunted a few Black Dogs in the past few years, so it should have been an easy hunt. The only reason it took him three days to track it is because it managed to escape on the second day. Dean had been trying desperately to fight off an illness that he really didn't need adding to the list of things he had to deal with.

Now, he fought to keep his weary eyes focused on the road in front of him. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he tried to maneuver the car along the winding road. Dean had heard mentions of the impending snow storm while scanning radio stations earlier in the day after he had finally gotten rid of the Black Dog. The report he had heard on the radio hadn't called for it to get so bad so quickly though. Dean shivered as he watched the snow fall harder in the shine of the car's headlights. He knew the shiver had nothing to do with the frigid temperature outside. No, he knew whatever illness he had been trying to ignore for the past couple of days was getting worse. All he needed was just a few more miles and he could make it to the cabin and sleep. And with how he felt, he couldn't wait to finally get some shut-eye. Dean had learned the hard way just how much it took to be alone on a hunt. He suddenly realized that he hadn't heard from his father since yesterday. Not since his father had called to berate him on the fact he should have been done with the hunt on the first day.

Things had been that way between Dean and his father ever since things fell apart. Dean thought sadly of his younger brother Sam, who had left after a fight with their father many months ago. Sam wanted out of the family business, as Dean called it. Hunting things that went bump in the night wasn't exactly the kind of job that every person could do. Sam finally had enough of it and left. Their father was still bitter about Sam leaving like he had. So bitter that he had told Sam never to come back.

Dean was left playing the mediator, but he hadn't been able to keep Sam from leaving. Since then, Dean had spoken to his brother only once. That conversation turned into an argument that left a very angry Sam telling Dean he didn't want to speak to him ever again. It hurt more than Dean wanted to admit, but he didn't have a lot of time to think about it. A hunter's job was never done, and before long, he was following his dad off to chase down something else. All the while, his dad's irritation with Sam seemed to cause him to have an even shorter fuse when it came to Dean.

He cursed Mother Nature and her obvious hatred of the south at that particular moment. The road had long since disappeared beneath a sheet of white, with the painted lines just barely visible. Dean wondered if it had been such a good idea to travel down the dead-end road just to get to the hunter's cabin he and his father had out there. Maybe he should have just pooled what little money he had left and gotten a hotel room.

But as usual, Dean had reacted without thinking when he thought he could do something as simple as finding shelter for the night on his own. It was just a reminder at how dependent he really was on his dad at times. Even if this was going to add one more thing to the growing list of reasons his dad could find to tell him he had screwed something up.

Just as he rounded a curve, a snow-laden tree took that moment to start toppling into the road. Dean's normally catlike reflexes had been tremendously slowed by illness and fatigue from the past few days. He felt the car start to slide off the road as he jerked the steering wheel to avoid the falling tree. The tree fell, just barely missing the Impala as it slid by. Dean tried to get the car back under control. But it was too late.

He skidded off the road, coming to a stop in a clearing just past the trees. It was a relief to him that he didn't hit anything, but he realized the car was definitely stuck. After a few seconds of near panicked breathing, he calmed himself down before seeing if he could get back on the road. No matter how hard he tried, the car wouldn't budge. He reluctantly shut the engine off.

"Great," he muttered, resisting the urge to beat his already pounding head against the steering wheel.

He laughed to himself as he thought about what his dad would say now. Things were definitely not going his way. The storm continued to rage. Dean knew he didn't have many options for how to get out of the mess he was in. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He looked at it for a few seconds before calling his dad. It came as no surprise it went straight to voicemail. Dean didn't bother leaving a message. He looked around to see if, by some miracle, he had gotten stuck near a house. He had to squint as he looked through the windshield, but he saw the unmistakable sign of a front porch light that was on, illuminating the front of a small house.

He suddenly had 2 options. Sit in the car and wait out the storm, and hope he didn't freeze to death in the process. Or hope that whoever lived in that house would be willing to help him out for the night.

All the years of going on hunts with his dad had taught him that it was never a good idea to trust a stranger. Especially when that stranger lived so far away from someone Dean actually knew. But what choice did he have in this situation? He was literally stuck in a raging snowstorm. His dad wasn't answering his phone. Dean momentarily thought about calling Bobby, another hunter who had always been like a second father to him. But he knew Bobby couldn't help him now either. Bobby was miles away.

Dean made his decision as he pocketed his car keys, ensured his phone was in his jacket pocket, and opened the car's door. The windblown snow in his vision coupled with his already dizzying headache had him swaying until he grabbed onto the car door to keep from falling. He tried to ignore just how much effort it took to simply shut the door and walk around to grab his duffel bag from the trunk.

A force of habit had him making sure his large knife was hidden within the bag before tucking a small handgun into the waist of his jeans and concealing it with his jacket. He couldn't exactly walk up to a stranger's house carrying his usual arsenal, but he wanted to at least have something with him in case whoever lived in the house decided he wasn't welcome. It wouldn't be the first time he had encountered an unfriendly being at a home, human or otherwise.

He looked back toward the house's porch light. The wind whipped around him, reminding Dean that if he didn't start moving he was going to end up frozen to the spot behind his beloved car. He grabbed a flashlight from the trunk and did a quick—well, as quick as possible for a sick man—walk around his car to ensure the Impala hadn't been damaged. He breathed a sigh of relief that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Closing the trunk, he shouldered his bag and started walking toward the house. The beam of the flashlight didn't penetrate far into the falling snow, but Dean managed to keep going in the right direction toward the house.

The pounding in his head increased with every step. His fevered mind began playing tricks on him. Dean swore he saw figures lurking in the shadows. He felt like something was watching him. He couldn't stop the moment of panic that hit him when a coughing fit left him doubled over. He dropped his bag as he rested his hands on his knees, just trying to get his breathing back under control. His grip on his flashlight tightened.

That's when he heard it. Something sounded over the howl of the wind. The beam of the flashlight caught the movement of a large, black blur that darted just past the reach of the beam of light. A low growl sounded behind Dean. He whirled around to see what it was. The movement sent a new wave of dizziness over him. He bit back the groan that threatened to escape his lips. Another growl sounded, this time to the left. Dean blinked a couple times then saw the black mass running toward him.

He dropped the flashlight in his haste to grab the handgun concealed beneath his jacket. His shaking hands left him fumbling with the pistol before he dropped it in the snow.

"Damn it!" he cried out in a panicked huff.

The flashlight had turned off when he dropped it. The gun was somewhere in the snow. His bag was a few feet away. When had he stepped away from it? Confusion, panic, and just a hint of fear had Dean trying to figure out where the thing was that he had seen running toward him. His vision blurred as he shivered violently in the wind that seemed to have gotten colder. The black form suddenly appeared in his blurred line of sight again. Dean braced himself for an attack. It barreled toward him, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him onto his back.

All he saw was a black, furry creature with white teeth that gleamed from the glow of the porch light that suddenly didn't seem as far away as Dean remembered.

"Help me!" he called out as the creature's weight fell on him. He pushed it off only to have it return a split second later. "Help!"

_This is it,_ he thought as he tried to push the creature away as his vision blurred even more. He could have sworn he heard it growl again. _If I don't freeze to death first, this damn hellhound is going to kill me._


	2. Chapter 2

**Introducing my OC Madison Carlisle in this chapter. She was a difficult character to write and it was even more difficult writing her interactions with Dean in this chapter. I think I re-wrote this at least 3 times before I finally decided enough was enough and reached a point where I was somewhat happy with it. I considered splitting it, but I thought I'd go ahead and just post the whole thing at once since I couldn't find a good place to split it. Anyway, that's enough of my rambling. Hopefully you enjoy it!**

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Madison Carlisle watched the snow blowing past the living room window in the glow of her front porch light. She was suddenly thankful she had gone to the store earlier in the morning when the local news broadcast had urged residents in the area to prepare for a brutal winter storm. It was expected to be one of the worst storms to hit the area in years. She had nothing pressing to do for the next few days so she didn't care how much snow fell. Winter was her favorite season, and it had been a few years since any significant snow had fallen in the area. Actually, she hadn't seen any real snowfall since she was twenty-four. And that was four years ago.

Snow hadn't been falling long, but already several inches of it blanketed the ground. Madison, comfortably snuggled under her favorite blanket, idly flipped through the channels on her tv until she settled on a CSI marathon. Her black lab named Remington padded into the room and walked over to the door. He pawed at it and whined.

"Remi," Madison looked at the dog incredulously. "It's freezing out there. You sure you want outside?"

The dog barked at the word 'outside'. Madison shook her head at the dog's uncanny timing in wanting outside. She got up to let him out. The cold air blew into the house with such force that Madison knew Remington wouldn't stay out in the cold long. She brushed windblown strands of her blonde hair from her face as she watched Remington run around in the snow for a few seconds before shutting the door.

Madison returned to the couch and changed the television channel to see what the latest weather report was. She listened to the meteorologist explain that the storm was dumping more snow than they had predicted, resulting in half a foot already on the ground in most places. The front was slow moving and would probably hang around for at least a couple days. Madison began to wonder if all the times she had wished for some snowfall since the start of winter had suddenly caught up and resulted in all those wishes being granted at once.

Remington's barking sounded over the television. It was rare that Remington barked like that. Curious, Madison got up from the couch and looked outside. She saw Remington dart across the yard as he barked again. She could have sworn she saw something moving just past where the porch light could reach. Remington's barking increased. Then, just at the edge of her illuminated yard, she saw a man coming toward the house. It took her by surprise to see someone in her yard in the middle of such a storm. Madison was momentarily frozen as she watched Remington run around the stranger. The man made a movement as though to grab something and suddenly dropped it. Madison quickly grabbed her coat from the back of the recliner, pulled on her boots, and went outside. Just as she did, she saw Remington run toward the man again.

Her dog, true to his usual nature when encountering someone new, literally pounced on the man. Madison was convinced her dog had never met a stranger in his life. Remington wouldn't harm a fly, but the man he had tackled didn't know that. He immediately began panicking as the dog tried to lick his face.

"Remi!" Madison called out before her dog terrified the poor guy. "Get off him!"

Her voice seemed to startle the man on the ground. He suddenly looked up at her. Madison called out to her dog again. Remington was just too excited to hear her. The man on the ground yelled at Madison this time.

"Call off your hellhound!" the young man struggled to push Remington off of him.

"Remi!" Madison yelled at her dog even louder and grabbed his collar. "Down!"

The black lab instantly backed away. The man looked momentarily relieved. Madison wondered where he had even come from. The nearest houses to hers were a mile down the road, and two miles up the road, there were a few scattered hunters cabins at the base of the mountain. Then she spotted it. The black car stuck in the snow at the edge of her property.

Madison reasoned he must have been coming toward the house to get help. Well, there was nothing she could for his stuck car. She leaned down to help the man up, but the second she grabbed his left arm, his right one took a wild swing. Madison staggered back a couple steps as she rubbed away the pain from being punched in the jaw.

"Dude!" Madison looked at him as he got to his feet. "What the hell? I'm just trying to help you! Calm down!"

"First you send your hellhound after me and then you expect me to trust you?" he asked, almost sounding hysterical. Even in the dim light, Madison could see his chest heaving as he struggled to calm down.

"Hellhound? What?" Madison almost laughed. "Nevermind. Remi's not going to hurt you. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell you're doing in my yard!"

Madison could tell he definitely wasn't well. The way he couldn't seem to fully get a grasp on reality made her wonder if he was truly insane or just really confused. He swayed slightly, which only resulted in Madison's worry level suddenly spiking even more.

She barely had time to react before he decided she was still a threat. He tried again to defend himself from whatever he thought she was going to do to him. The action made Remington growl. Madison knew her dog only growled when he sensed his owner was in danger. She ducked another wild punch aimed her way. Her jaw still throbbed from the one she had already taken.

"Easy, Remi," Madison tried to calm the dog before it did something to make things worse. Once again, the man turned on her. Her fighting instincts took over before she could stop them.

With one well-aimed punch, Madison effectively knocked her attacker down. The ease in which he went down startled her, given that he was a little taller than she was. But the blow seemed to have momentarily brought him to his senses.

"Well, now that we know I can kick your ass if you try that again," Madison looked down at him. "Mind telling me what the hell you're doing here?"

"I was… I don't…" he stammered, rubbing his cheek. "I needed help."

His hands came up to cover his face. All the fight was gone from him now. Madison suddenly felt bad for hitting him since it was so painfully obvious he wasn't in his right mind.

"Ah, hell," Madison groaned and knelt in front of him. "What's your name?"

"Dean," he sounded as though it took all he had just to tell her his name.

"Okay, I—"

Before Madison could finish her sentence, the young man's eyes rolled back. He suddenly slumped forward against Madison. She lay him back into the snow just for a moment to check his pulse. It was there, faint and racing, but at least it was there. His skin was extremely warm to the touch, and Madison knew then that he was sick. Which had to explain why he thought she was a threat and Remington was a hellhound.

Madison had no idea who he was. All she knew was that she had to help him.

Remington's bark sounded from her left. She looked over to see her dog dragging something over. The dog let it go when he got to her. It was a duffel bag that Madison knew had to belong to the stranger now lying in her yard. Something caught her eye just as she started to try to figure out how to get him inside. The porch light glinted off something a couple feet away.

Madison frowned when she realized it was a pistol. Putting two and two together, she figured that must have been what she saw him drop before she went outside. Remington barked again, oblivious to the fact he had come close to probably getting a bullet between the eyes. Madison grabbed the gun and tucked it safely into a pocket on the duffel bag. She would deal with that once she was inside. Madison threw the bag over her shoulder and hooked her hands under the young man's arms. Her only option was to half carry, half drag him inside her house. It was slow going, and after a few near falls, she managed to get him inside with Remington in tow. The dog decided to hang back once they were all inside and headed over to take his usual spot beside the couch.

Madison decided the best thing to was get him to the guest room so he could lie down on the bed and rest. Just as she got him to the spare bedroom that was just down the hall from the front door of her small home, he stirred slightly. He groaned as Madison stumbled a step toward the bed and nearly dropped him.

"Sorry," she muttered, trying her best not to let him completely fall to the floor.

She tried to brush off most of the snow that clung to his clothes before lying him down. His eyes were open, looking at her and watching her every move. She pulled his boots off before fully getting him onto the bed. The green eyes looking at her definitely weren't completely focused on her. She placed a hand to his forehead to gauge his temperature again.

"Wha's goin' on?" he mumbled, pushing her hand away from his forehead. "Leave me alone!"

"Just take it easy," she gently put a hand on his shoulder.

It looked like it was taking all of his strength just to focus on her.

"My name's Madison," she tried to make him realize she wasn't going to hurt him. "You're safe here. I need you to trust me on that, okay?"

For a moment, Madison feared he was going to try to make some sort of wild attempt to get away from her. The look he gave her told her that he had come to realize he had no choice but to trust her. Very slowly, he nodded to let her know he was willing to trust her. At least for the moment.

"Good," Madison smiled, patting his shoulder.

She got up to quickly grab a couple blankets from the closet. Panic was creeping in as she laid the blankets over him. He was deathly pale and shivering so violently that Madison felt helpless in trying to figure out what to do. She wondered just who he was. All she knew was he had told her his name was Dean. She looked at the duffel bag she had sat on the floor, remembering a gun was still in it. For now, she just made sure it wasn't close enough to the bed for him to grab. The last thing she needed was for him to lose it again. Curiosity made her want to see if she could find anything in the bag that would give her any clues as to who her surprise guest was. She would never do that though. Madison knew all too well that it was never a good thing for a stranger to know more about you than you wanted them to.

She quietly slipped out of the room and headed into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and the bottle of Tylenol from the bathroom medicine cabinet before returning to the guest room. Dean had almost fallen asleep in the few seconds she was gone.

"Hey," Madison sat the glass of water and the pills on the nightstand. "I know you're feeling lousy. I've got some Tylenol if you want to take it. It'll help."

He didn't say anything in return, just opting to attempt to sit up. That's when Madison realized how bad he must truly feel. He barely had the strength to do that simple act. He shrugged off her attempt to help him sit up.

"Dean, come on now," she tried again to help him sit up. He stiffened under her touch. "What? What's wrong?"

"How do you know my name?" he asked, eyes unfocused.

"You told me," she explained. She uncapped the pill bottle and poured two pills into her hand. "Here, take these and then I'll let you rest, all right?"

She had to help him with the glass of water after he nearly knocked it off the nightstand just trying to pick it up. He didn't protest her help this time. Instead, he opted to give her a look that told her he would've said what was really on his mind if he wasn't so sick. Madison wondered why he was so against getting help now when he had sounded so desperate for it outside. She hoped that whatever illness he had wasn't anything serious because she knew they would be out of luck if it was. Dean groaned slightly as he tried to get comfortable. She turned the light on in the hallway and turned the light off in the bedroom before sitting back down on the edge of the bed. The room was illuminated enough for her to keep an eye on her guest, but not so bright that it was going to make it difficult for him to get some sleep.

Madison reached out to comb her fingers through his short, light brown hair. She didn't know why she felt compelled to do that. Dean seemed to instantly relax a little as she did, turning his head to lean into her touch.

Whoever he was, Madison knew he wouldn't harm her whenever he fully came to his senses. As her adrenaline levels decreased and she really began to look at the sleeping young man, she realized he had to be in his twenties. She guessed he was a couple years or so younger than she was.

His expression would alternate between one of peace to one of pain and occasionally an emotion she wasn't sure about. He mumbled something every now and then. She caught the name "Sam" a few times, and at one point, heard him half cry out for his mom. Her heart clenched at how childlike he sounded.

After a while, she noticed him beginning to stir. A look at the alarm clock on the nightstand showed that it was just past midnight. He had only been asleep for just over an hour. Madison placed a hand to his forehead again. His fever was still there, and maybe it was just wishful thinking on Madison's part, but it felt as though it had gone down some. Even so, his forehead was still too warm for Madison's liking. As quick as she could, she hurried to the bathroom to grab a washcloth, wet it with cool water from the sink, and return to the room. His eyes fluttered open as soon as the cool cloth touched his forehead. Green eyes, hazy from the fever, looked at her questioningly.

He regarded her with such a curious and slightly startled expression that Madison wondered what was going through his mind. She removed the cloth from his head, momentarily laying it on the nightstand. Dean surprised her by sitting up slowly. Madison prepared for his pending attempt to get away. But that didn't happen. He leaned forward slightly and covered his face with his hands.

"Dean?" she made some attempt to gauge just how sick he really was.

Painfully slow, he lowered his hands and looked at her. She sat back down beside him. The silence in the room was broken only by the sound of his breathing, which seemed to hitch every so often, and the steady howl of the wind outside.

"Dean?" she tried again.

She cautiously reached out a hand to rest it on his arm. He looked down at her hand before raising his gaze again. His eyes squinted in the dim light as if he was trying to figure out who she was. Madison started to speak but stopped herself. Instead, she reached for his right hand and took it in hers.

"Everything's okay," she tried to calm him down. "You're just sick. Relax and let me take care of you, all right?"

A sudden look of embarrassment crossed his face as though he was ashamed of the fact she had to take care of him. Madison gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his knee.

"Go back to sleep," she urged. "When you feel up to it, I'll—"

His pallor suddenly paled even more. He looked at her, frantic.

"What?"

"Bathroom," he said quickly.

Before Madison could make a move, his reason for needing the bathroom made itself apparent. Whatever Dean had eaten earlier in the day made an appearance all over the bed covers, his shirt and jacket, and narrowly missed Madison's lap.

"Ugh," Madison groaned, getting to her feet.

"I'm s-sorry," Dean looked mortified.

"Don't worry about it," she felt even worse for him. "It's all right. You done or is there more where that came from?"

He looked uncertain as he kept mouth tightly closed. Madison then took in the mess on the bed and down the front of Dean's shirt. For once, she was glad she didn't have a weak stomach.

"Well, now you're going to have to get out of the bed," she smiled at him. "Let's get you to the bathroom and get you cleaned up, okay? I'll get your bag so you can change clothes."

"I'm not letting you undress me!" he said so forcefully that Madison had to pause a moment to wonder where he had even found the energy to yell.

"I never said I was," Madison stifled a laugh at his momentarily horrified expression.

Dean slowly pushed back the soiled blankets and swung his legs around to get out of bed. Madison made a move to help him up. The glare he gave her made Madison freeze. She laughed, knowing Dean just wanted to show he was some sort of tough guy.

Although it was hard for Madison to think of him as a tough guy after seeing him on the ground, screaming for help because he thought Remington was a hellhound trying to kill him.

"Bathroom is across the hall," she said to him. "I'll carry your bag."

He made his way out of the room, albeit on very unsteady legs. Madison took that opportunity to pull the handgun from the pocket she had stuck it in earlier and laid it on top of the dresser for the moment before taking the bag to him. He graciously took the bag from her and began to pull a clean shirt from the bag.

"Just yell if you need anything," she told him.

"I'll be fine," he snapped. "Now, leave me the hell alone."

"And here I was gonna offer to give you a sponge bath," Madison smirked. "Guess you just lost that privilege."

"Shut up," was Dean's comeback.

Madison rolled her eyes. "Are you always this bitchy?"

Dean rewarded that question with a one finger salute. Madison couldn't help but be amused by it. She wanted to see what other responses she could get from him but thought better of it. Teasing a sick man wasn't exactly high on the list of acceptable behaviors for her.

"Okay then," Madison pulled the door closed.

She hurried to the bedroom to retrieve the handgun to put it somewhere safe and out of his reach. Once back in the bedroom she stripped the sheets and blankets from the bed before grabbing fresh ones from the closet. It had been so long since she had any form of company that Madison couldn't even remember the last time someone had even been in the guest room.

Remington looked up at her as she carried the soiled bed linens through to the washer and tossed them in. She would start the wash as soon as she got Dean's dirty clothes to throw in with them. She went back to the bathroom to check on Dean.

"Dean?" she called through the door. No answer came. "Dean?"

Madison eased the door open to find him slumped on the ground, his back against the bathtub. She knelt in front of him. He looked at her with obvious confusion. He had at least managed to clean up and change into a pair of sweatpants. Madison couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her lips as she noticed numerous scars on his now shirtless upper body. Ignoring the voice in her head that wanted to know about the scars, Madison held onto his arm as he got back on his feet. His lack of complaint made her look at him with a raised eyebrow. But the ever had blurred the line between reality and imagination again. The lucidity from just a few moments before was long gone.

"Come on, tough guy," she helped him back into the guest room.

At least it wasn't such a struggle to get him into bed the second time. Madison couldn't ignore the look he kept giving her. He looked at her as though she was familiar. She felt his forehead again, silently cursing when she realized she had been wrong about it going down. Madison was not well equipped to handle any major illnesses. All she had was the basic fever reducers and pain medications in her house. None of which would really help if this was more than just some sort of stomach bug or the flu. And she prayed it wasn't the latter. She dealt with the flu the previous winter and was down for the count for nearly a week.

He rested an arm over his eyes. Madison watched as his breathing hitched. She gently caressed his cheek, only now seeing the bruise from where she had hit him earlier. Dean moved his arm so he could look at her. The faraway look was back again.

Madison started to get up and turn the hall light off. Maybe complete darkness would help him get some sleep.

"Mom, don't leave me," Dean grabbed her arm just as she got to her feet.

Madison snorted back a laugh that anyone could even look at her as though she was a motherly figure. Granted, she realized Dean had no idea what he was saying in his fevered state. She sat back down on the edge of the bed and held onto Dean's hand. He relaxed slightly when he realized she wasn't going anywhere.

"Mom?" he asked, eyes still unfocused.

Madison decided to just play along if it meant he would go to sleep faster.

"What?" she replied.

"Do you think Sammy is okay?"

Madison frowned. She had no idea who Sammy was.

"I'm sure he's all right," she hoped she sounded convincing enough for him to believe her.

"Dad told me to protect him," Dean's eyes opened again. Madison was surprised to see tears in them. Still, they were clouded, and Dean definitely didn't know who he was talking to. "He might get hurt out there!"

"He'll be okay," Madison tried to calm him down by keeping up the charade.

"I couldn't stop him from leaving," Dean sat up so quickly that Madison had to lean back for a second to keep from getting head-butted. "He left me and dad behind. I miss him, Mom. Why won't he talk to me anymore?"

Madison slowly put the pieces together to at least assume Sammy was Dean's brother. She had no idea what anything else meant past that though.

"Come here," she held out her arms and pulled Dean into a hug.

He held onto her as though his life depended on it. Madison couldn't stop herself from hugging him tighter when she felt him tremble in her arms. His overly warm body took a while to finally relax. Madison held him until she felt his breathing even out, signaling he was fully asleep. She eased him back down and pulled the blankets over him again. She waited a moment to see if he was going to wake up before finally stepping out of the room.

She paused in the hallway for a moment. Remington approached her, head cocked to the side as though he was as confused as she was about everything that had happened. She looked out the window at the snow that was still falling relentlessly then back at the black lab.

"Well, boy," Madison reached down to pat his head. "It looks like we're stuck with our new friend for a while."


	3. Chapter 3

**I'll admit I'm not really happy with this chapter. No matter how many types I tweaked it, Dean still came across as OOC to me. But I hope you all still enjoy it anyway! Also, I'm really trying to keep my character Madison from becoming one of those typical, annoying female characters that is often found in fan fiction. There is a purpose for her being in the story, and more about who she is will be revealed in later chapters. **

* * *

Dean awoke late the next morning. He immediately sat up when he realized he was in an unfamiliar room. The movement sent a wave of nausea over him that had him lying back down and closing his eyes until the feeling passed. He slowly opened his eyes once his stomach stopped threatening to revolt. The weak sunlight streaming in through the partially opened window blinds reminded him that it had definitely been night the last time he was awake. He grabbed for the knife he always kept under his pillow in a reflexive motion when his brain finally comprehended he definitely wasn't in the cabin he had been heading for last night.

Only the knife wasn't there. Dean's panic level rose until he saw his duffel bag on the floor just beside the bed. He stared at it for a moment. Seeing it partially unzipped, he wondered if he had left it that way or if someone else had. To his horror, he noticed that all he had on was his sweatpants. He distinctly remembered having on way more clothing than that last night. Did someone undress him?

And wasn't there a hellhound after him at some point last night?

It took nearly all of his strength to get out of bed so he could figure out just what the hell was actually going on. He opened his duffel bag, digging through it to pull on a black t-shirt and grabbing the large knife buried under clothes in the bottom. Whatever was going on here couldn't possibly be good, and he wasn't going to go down without a fight. Dean stumbled through the house as his tired and sick body protested being upright. He kept the knife gripped tightly in his hand as he walked down the hall and emerged into the living room. The television was on, but nobody was around to watch it. It was oddly quiet in the house.

"Hello?" Dean called out, glancing around nervously. No answer came.

He turned toward the kitchen. The second his back turned, the front door opened. Something hit him in the back of knees hard enough to knock him down. The knife clattered across the floor as Dean tried to push the overly excited dog off of him. The fact he was so easily ambushed startled Dean. It wasn't like him to be taken down so easily by anything.

"Remi!" a voice called out.

Dean pushed the dog away before he felt hands on his shoulders. He fought against those hands too. A female voice told him soothingly that everything was okay, that he wasn't in danger. Dean finally focused on the face hovering over him. Blue eyes full of concern met his gaze. He stopped struggling when the nausea from earlier hit him again, but he managed to keep everything in control.

"You all right?" she asked.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Dean asked as he sat up.

"You obviously don't remember last night then," she laughed. "My name's Madison, and I saved your ass last night."

Dean looked around for a second. He looked at the black dog that was now lying by the couch. It looked harmless enough, but Dean still wasn't sure he could trust it. Madison knelt beside him and reached a hand out to his forehead. He quickly swatted her hand away.

"Hands off," he told her. "I'm fine."

"You still feel a little warm," Madison commented, not even acknowledging his objection to her touch. "And you're fine? So says the man who thought Remington was a hellhound last night. And—" she looked past him for a second. "What the hell were you doing with that knife?"

"Well, I wasn't going to kill you with it, if that's what you're wondering."

"Oh, yeah, that totally makes me feel better," Madison replied, sarcasm dripping in her voice. "Am I going to regret not letting your ass freeze out in the snow last night? I already put away a gun you had, and don't think you're getting it back just yet, either."

"But—"

"You heard me," she stared him down before straightening back to her full height. She offered her hand to Dean to help him up, but he pushed it away. "What is it with you? You're stubborn as a mule, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, who the hell asked you?" he shot back as he stood up to face her.

"Is that anyway to talk to the person who took care of you last night?" she asks, her voice taking on a serious tone. "Look, I know we're strangers here, but you're in my house, and you'll behave yourself, or you might just find yourself back out there in the snow. I guess you should thank your lucky stars that Remington made enough noise to let me know you were in my yard. And your name is Dean, right?"

"How did you—"

"Again with this?" she laughed. "You really were out of it last night, weren't you? I asked you last night, and you told me that's what your name was. I'm just double-checking that's actually your name now that you're not completely delirious with fever."

"Yeah, it is," Dean confirmed. Normally he wouldn't give his real name to someone he didn't know, but he didn't feel like trying to come up with a different name to give Madison since he had already told her the truth. "What happened last night anyway?"

"You tell me," she replied. "I let Remington out, and then he started barking. Next thing I know, you're out in my front yard, yelling for help because you think Remi is a hellhound."

"I don't really remember any of that," Dean paled.

How could he not remember what happened? Had something put a curse on him? Could he really trust that Madison was telling the truth? He must have really let his guard down last night. How else would he have ended up in this situation?

"Dean?"

He barely registered Madison's feather light touch on his arm. Her voice, while concerned, was oddly soothing as he tried to figure out if this was his mind playing tricks on him or if there really was a simple explanation as to how he ended up in her house. Madison kept her hand on his arm and gently led him to the couch. Dean collapsed onto it without hesitation when exhaustion suddenly hit him. His normally quick and alert nature had been severely compromised. He tried to desperately to hide his shaking hands.

"Guess you're not feeling as okay as you want me to believe, huh?" Madison questioned. Dean shrugged in response. "Well, this should make you feel a little better – The reason I was outside was so I could get that car of yours covered. I figured you must have driven up here last night so I went looking for your car. Took me a few minutes to find it under the foot of snow that's already fallen. I knocked as much snow off as I could before dragging a couple of my Dad's old tarps out of the garage to cover it."

It took Dean a few seconds to comprehend what she had said. Madison had taken the time to cover his car? That definitely didn't sound like something someone would do for him if they intended on harming him in some way.

"You're definitely stuck here until the snow clears, which could be at least another day depending on if the second storm comes through today like they're saying," Madison continued. "And this road is usually one of the last ones to be cleared since it's not a heavily travelled road, but I already called a friend of mine with the city's public works department and told them to mind plowing the roads around the curve when they do so they won't hit your car. It should be out of the way, but you never can be too careful."

"You really took the time to do that?"

"Hey, a car like that isn't something you see every day," Madison grinned. "It's a damn nice car too, I might add."

"Thanks," Dean managed to smile. He looked down at the dog at his feet. "And this is Remington? You named your dog after a gun?"

"What can I say?" Madison shrugged. "I was raised by a father who loved guns and hunting."

Dean watched as Madison walked over to pick up the large hunting knife he had dropped. She surveyed it for a moment before looking at him.

"Serious question," Madison eyed his suspiciously. "What in the hell are you even doing out here? You're definitely not someone I've seen around here before."

"It's a long story," Dean tried to avoid giving a straight answer. "And even if I told you, then you'd never believe me."

"Try me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I already told you," Dean sighed. "Look, I swear to you that it's not what you're probably thinking. I'm not a lunatic who wants to kill you or anything."

"Something tells me you're not lying to me, but for all intents and purposes," Madison held up the knife and surveyed it. "You're not getting this back until I know for sure I can trust you. You hiding any more weapons that I need to know about?"

"No."

"Good. I'll be right back."

Dean wanted to protest, but he wasn't exactly in a position to argue as Madison disappeared down the hall to hide his knife from him. He suddenly felt drained. His head ached with every heartbeat, and he felt miserable. He rubbed a hand across his face. Madison reappeared with his cellphone. He hadn't even thought about it until that very moment she handed it out to him.

"Here, you got a phone call about an hour ago. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about me answering your calls, so I didn't answer it."

"Thanks," he took his phone from her to see that he had just one missed call.

Any other person would have probably answered the call for him. Madison seemed to be honed in on Dean's need for privacy. It was a detail about the woman standing before him that both intrigued and scared him a little. She wasn't quite like any other person he had ever run into while traveling.

"I know you're still not feeling well, even if you won't admit it," she shot him a look he tried to ignore. "But I'm going to fix some lunch. Hopefully you'll feel like eating."

"You know," Dean studied her. "Most people would have probably called the cops if they had found some guy in their front yard with a gun."

"Please," Madison scoffed. "I wasn't afraid of you last night. Not by a long shot. Besides, once I realized that you weren't all there, I was less worried about the gun after I found it and more worried about the fact you were going to freeze to death. What on earth were you doing out in this mess? There's nothing past my house except some hunters cabins at the base of the mountain."

"I was headed to one of the cabins," he explained. "My dad and I use one of them sometimes when we're out this way."

"A little winter hunting, huh?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. If Madison thought he was a _regular _hunter, then he would just play along. No reason she needed to know the truth.

"Well, you sure picked a fine time to go hunting," she commented with a smile. "And do me a favor, would ya?"

Dean arched an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"If you feel like throwing up at any time, try to make it to the bathroom down the hall across from the room you were in," Madison laughed softly. "I'd rather not have to clean up after you again."

Dean suddenly wanted to find a rock to crawl under. "Sorry. I guess I was more trouble than I was worth last night, huh?"

"I'm not sure you even knew where you were last night," Madison sighed. "You were so out of it that I thought I was going to have to dress you myself when I had to get you to the bathroom and cleaned up."

"You didn't—"

"Relax," Madison said, amused by his momentarily mortified expression. "You dressed yourself. Well, you at least managed to get pants on before I came back into the bathroom to find you sitting on the floor looking like you wouldn't have known your own name if I'd asked then."

"I didn't say anything stupid to you, did I?" Dean questioned, fearing that he might have embarrassed himself even more. He knew that high fevers usually led to him saying or trying to do something incredibly stupid.

"Nah," Madison shook her head. "You did ask me about someone you called 'Sammy', though."

"I did?" Dean frowned.

"Yeah, but don't worry about it," she seemed to shrug the incident off. "I'm assuming Sammy is your brother?"

"Little brother, and I'd rather not talk about him right now."

"Understood," Madison nodded. "Well, I'm going to go fix some lunch. Try to remember that Remi isn't a hellhound and that the bathroom is down the hall, all right?"

"I'll try," Dean flashed her a smile. "And thanks… for everything. You really didn't have to go through the trouble."

"I couldn't leave you to freeze out there," Madison's voice softened. "Especially when I know you would've died out there if I hadn't brought you in. You don't have to be ashamed of getting help, you know."

Dean only wished she knew how awkward he really felt knowing he had needed a stranger's help to save his life the previous night. But, he guessed, it was bound to happen when his Dad sent him out on a hunt by himself. He was so used to having his Dad as his lifeline when things went wrong. He looked to where Madison stood. He had to admit she was pretty. Shoulder length blonde hair and a smile that lit up the room.

He noticed a bruise on her face that he knew wasn't an old one.

"What happened to your face?"

"_You_ happened to my face," she laughed. "I tried to help you up off the ground last night, and you took a swing I wasn't ready for. I learned the hard way just how delirious you really can be with a fever."

"Sorry," Dean tried to hide his embarrassment.

"You've got a matching bruise, you know," she laughed again. "You tried to hit me a second time, and well… I fought back without thinking. Although I wasn't expecting you to go down as quick as you did."

Dean self-consciously ran his hand along his face. He flinched slightly when the light touch on his left cheek resulted in a brief flash of pain. Dean made a mental note to lock away the fact he had gotten his ass handed to him by a woman.

"Since I know it's pointless to ask you to tell me if you start feeling worse again, there's a bottle of Tylenol in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"This," he gestured around the room. "Letting me stay here. Taking time to cover my car. Taking care of me. You're not afraid to let a stranger stay in your home?"

"Hell yes I'm afraid. Especially after finding that gun and knowing you had that knife too," she replied honestly. "But like I said, I couldn't leave you to die out there last night. You were so sick and disoriented. You would've frozen to death if Remington hadn't wanted out at the right time and then alerted me to you being out there."

A chill ran up Dean's spine that had nothing to do with his lingering fever. "I don't know what to say. Well, I guess I should say thank you. And I promise I won't cause any more trouble."

"Good," she smiled brightly. "As long as you don't have any more weapons, I won't have to do something drastic like tie you up and wait for the police to have a chance to come get you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, tough guy," she winked. "Remember, I knocked you on your ass once. I'll do it again if I have to."

"Point taken," Dean laughed. His laughter rattled his chest, sending him into a coughing fit.

Madison was by his side in an instant. Dean struggled to get his breathing back under control. He felt Madison's hand on his back and flinched involuntarily at her touch. She pulled her hand away for a second before replacing her hand on his back. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had actually let someone try to comfort him like Madison was. Madison rubbed is back and began trying to talk to him, to calm him down. After a couple minutes, Dean managed to get his breathing to even out back to normal.

"You okay now?" Madison asked.

"Yeah," Dean wheezed in reply. "Damn that hurt."

"See? I knew you were lying when you said you were fine."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean replied, his voice sounding a lot better. "How's that?"

"I have a big brother who's every bit as stubborn as you seem to be," she smiled fondly.

"So I guess there's no fooling you then?"

"Nope," she got up from the couch. "Now, you rest up. I'll fix something to eat. Think you can handle eating a little something?"

"Maybe," Dean tried to ignore how his stomach threatened to revolt again at the thought of food.

"I'll see what I've got in the kitchen. Yell at me if you need anything."

She patted his shoulder before getting up and disappearing into the kitchen. Dean looked back at his phone he still held in his hand. He had all but forgotten about it. He checked to see who had called him earlier. The missed call was from his Dad. He called him back.

"Dean, where the hell are you?" his Dad demanded the second he answered the call. "Did you take care of that Black Dog yet?"

"I'm still in Tennessee," Dean answered. "And yeah, I did. But Dad, I… uh… I have a bit of a situation here."

"What did you screw up this time?"

Dean flinched at his Dad's tone. "A snowstorm hit last night. I'm going to be stuck here for a day or two."

"If you hadn't let that thing get away the other day, you wouldn't be in this mess. You would've been out of there before the storm hit," John said, obviously irritated. "You're not exactly proving you're ready for any more solo hunts, Dean."

"I know, Dad," Dean knew he had disappointed his father again. "I'm sorry."

"Will you be okay waiting out the storm on your own?" John's anger faded into a semi-recognizable tone of concern.

"Yeah, I'll be okay."

Dean didn't want to tell him exactly where he was. The last thing he needed was for his Dad to know he was in someone else's house. His dad had never been fond of being around strangers too long.

"Well, call if you need anything."

"I will."

Then that was it. The phone call was over. John knew Dean was okay, and that was all that mattered. Dean, however, hated how disappointed his Dad had sounded. No use in worrying about it now though. Dean put his phone on the coffee table, too tired to think about it anymore.

The world had darkened somewhat outside the window as clouds rolled in again to dump even more snow. Dean shivered at the thought of still being stuck in the storm alone. Being alone was one of his secret fears. Maybe it wasn't so bad he ended up here in Madison's house, even if he didn't really know her. Madison had gone above and beyond what any stranger had—or even should have—done for him. He knew anyone else wouldn't have hesitated to call the police. It unnerved him at how calm she was about finding the two weapons he had carried with him to the house. He just hoped that she hadn't looked into the trunk of his car when she went out to cover it. But, Dean realized, Madison would have probably said something if she had seen his arsenal of weapons and ammunition in the trunk.

Dean looked down at the black lab by his feet when the dog yawned. It looked up at him and wagged its tail. He reached down to pat the dog's head.

"I thought you were a hellhound?" Dean said to the dog and chuckled. "You definitely don't look that vicious."

Remington cocked his head to the side before nudging Dean's hand with his nose. Dean laughed at the absurdity of him being afraid of the dog. He just hoped he had kept enough of his dignity intact while Madison had taken care of him.

Dean yawned, suddenly aware of how tired he still was. His chest still ached from the coughing fit a few moments before. It had been a long time since an illness had gotten him down. He considered getting up and going back to the bedroom, but he didn't have the energy for that. Instead, he opted to just lie down on the couch.

Vaguely, he heard Madison moving stuff around in the kitchen. A swell of longing hit him when he realized that it had been a long time since he had spent time in an actual house instead of some hotel room. His thoughts turned to all those years ago when he had been a happy little boy, living in a normal home with his parents and baby brother. Those were the days he missed the most. He drifted off to sleep and dreamed of an alternate reality where he had a permanent home to come home to every day. An alternate reality where his Mom was still alive.

An alternate reality where he didn't feel so alone.

* * *

**Right now, I have just one other chapter (mostly) finished after this. So, I'm open to suggestions if you all have any on what you'd like to see happen in this story. Feel free to PM me if you do have any suggestions! **


	4. Chapter 4

After almost an hour in the kitchen, Madison went back into the living room to find Dean asleep on the couch. She smiled faintly at the sight of Remington lying beside the couch. The dog was awake but refusing to move. Madison figured that if Remington could relax near Dean, then the young man could be trusted. She couldn't help but let her gaze move to linger on Dean for a minute. Even asleep, he looked troubled. Madison had a hard time shaking the feeling that there was a lot more to her new company than met the eye.

His diversion to any form of compassion confused her. Most people would seek some sort of comfort when they were in trouble. Dean had actually flinched when she tried to comfort him when he began coughing. It made her wonder just what kind of life he must live that even a simple touch could make him react that way.

"Quit starin' at me," Dean mumbled sleepily. "It's creepy."

"Sorry," Madison laughed before stepping over to the couch.

She knelt beside it to be level with Dean. Remington got up and padded through the house, seemingly satisfied that everything was okay. The dog always had a tendency to be overprotective, but Madison was thankful he had at least taken a liking to Dean. The last thing she wanted was for Dean's fever to spike and have Remington going crazy enough to have Dean believing the dog was a hellhound again.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. It almost sounded like a reflexive answer of defense more than an honest answer.

"Whatever you say," Madison let it slide. "If you're feeling up to it, I've got some food waiting in the kitchen for you."

"I still don't understand why you're doing all of this."

"Because you need help, Dean," she replied bluntly. "Why are you so out of sorts about someone being nice to you?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Madison could see he was upset about something. She wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug him, but she knew that would probably be a very bad idea. She patiently waited for him to calm down, unsure of what to say or do.

"You wouldn't understand," he finally opened his eyes again to look at her.

"Okay," she realized she wasn't going to get an answer from him. Not yet, anyway. "I know we're strangers to each other, but something tells me you could really use a friend right now. And Dean, I'm willing to be a friend if you'll let me. Just know that as long as you're in my house, you're safe here, okay?"

Madison saw tears well in his eyes. Dean quickly blinked them back and nodded to show he understood what she had said before his expression became hardened and unreadable. Deep down, Madison knew his uneasiness around her was a result of something far more than that fact he barely knew her.

"Good," she smiled at him warmly. "Think you can eat anything? Since you're sick, I figured it would probably be best to just fix some soup."

"I can try," he slowly sat up as Madison got to her feet.

She didn't try to help him up from the couch, even when he swayed slightly on his feet. Madison stayed far enough away to not crowd him, but close enough to spring into action in case he wasn't able to stay on his feet as they went into the kitchen.

"Take a seat at the table. I'll fix it for you, okay?"

For a second, she expected him to tell her he could fix his own bowl of soup. The look he gave her proved he at least entertained the thought before sitting down at the table. Madison quickly filled a bowl with soup, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and carried it over to him. He quietly thanked her. Madison noticed he still looked so unsure of how to act with someone being so nice to him. She pushed aside the questions she had before fixing her own lunch and sitting down on the opposite side of the table from him.

Dean hadn't touched his food. Madison looked at him from across the table.

"If you don't like tomato-rice soup, I can fix something else," she offered.

"No, it's fine. I like it," he replied. Madison picked up on a hint of sadness in his voice. Dean looked down at the table, avoiding her gaze as his voice fell to a whisper. "It's just… My mom used to make this soup for me as a kid when I'd get sick."

Madison had to resist laughing that she had once again reminded Dean of his mother. First, he was delirious enough with fever the night before to think she was his mother. And now she had unknowingly done something else to make him think of her. Of course, with how he had acted while thinking she was his mother the previous night, Madison realized that Dean must have grown up as one of those boys who had been like a second shadow to his mother.

"Ah," Madison said thoughtfully before deciding to tease him a little. "You must have been momma's boy then."

Madison knew she had immediately said the wrong thing by joking about Dean being a "momma's boy". No amusement shone in those green eyes looking back at her. Only a brief flash of sadness before it was impossible to know what was going through Dean's mind. Without a word, Dean got up from his seat. He looked at Madison for a second longer before turning away and disappearing back through the archway of the kitchen. She continued to sit at the table for a moment. Mentioning Dean's mother had obviously been a trigger.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed her bowl of soup away and got up to find out where Dean went. He had bypassed the living room. Madison went to the guest room that Dean had spent the previous night in. He wasn't there. Remington padded out of her room and looked up at her.

"Where'd he go, boy?" she asked the dog as though it could answer. Remington merely yawned before turning to disappear back into Madison's bedroom.

She backtracked to the living room and looked around the house. If he wasn't in the house, then he had to have gone outside. Madison grabbed her coat off the coat rack by the front door. The door was still locked so she knew he hadn't gone out that way. She pulled her coat on and hurried to the back door.

She went to the back door to find Dean just sitting on the porch steps. Dean either ignored the sound of her coming outside, or he didn't hear the door open over the sound of the wind. She cautiously took a step toward him. The wind chilled her to the bone. And that's when she realized Dean was sitting out there with nothing on but the t-shirt and sweatpants he'd had on when he got out of bed. Madison was at least thankful he had had sense enough to pull his boots on before going out.

"Dean?" she asked so quietly that for a moment she wondered if he had heard her over the wind.

He didn't turn to acknowledge her. Madison stepped closer. Instincts told her that Dean wasn't the kind of person who opened up easily to people, let alone a stranger. Not that Madison was going to force him to tell her what was going on in his personal life. It was none of her business.

She eased down beside him. He still ignored her. His attention remained focused on whatever he was looking out at the edge of her yard. Madison knew that look. He wasn't staring at anything in particular. It was his way of avoiding looking at her. Madison knew he was shutting her out now.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," she cautiously reached over to lay her hand on his. It was like ice under hers. He quickly pulled his hand away. "Please, come back inside. You'll freeze to death out here."

"Why do you care?"

His question caught her by surprise. She had expected anger. Or maybe to be ignored even more. She hadn't expected the whisper-quiet voice to ask a question that had so much emotion behind it that it actually made her realize the young man sitting beside her was a broken soul.

"I just do," she tried to reason. "I know it's tough having to be stuck with a stranger in an unfamiliar place. I've been there, trust me. Just please, listen to me, okay? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to do anything other than try to be a friend for the next day or so while we wait out this mess."

"Leave me alone," he said bitterly. "Nobody else cares about me so you shouldn't either. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, yeah, you've done such a bang-up job of that since yesterday," Madison retorted.

"I said leave me alone!"

Dean risked one very brief and angry glare at her before looking away. Madison shivered, unsure if it was because of the wind suddenly picking up or because of the icy glare that Dean gave her. Everything in her screamed at her to get Dean back inside.

"Okay, fine," Madison huffed. "If you want to sit out here and freeze to death, then be my guest. Don't say I didn't warn your stubborn ass it would happen. And don't expect me to play nurse if you make yourself even sicker by sitting out here like this."

"I bet you'd look hot in a nurse's uniform," he smirked. "Maybe we should test that theory?"

"You know," Madison snorted in an attempt to suppress a laugh. "You're lucky you're cute or I'd probably go back inside and lock you out for such a comment."

"No, you wouldn't," Dean pointed out. "For some reason, you care too much about me to do that."

"Yeah, you're right," Madison smiled, glad for the lightened mood. "What do you say we go back inside?"

She got up, hoping Dean would follow suit. Dean got to his feet beside her and followed her back inside. She led him back into the kitchen where they returned to their seats at the table. Dean suddenly looked unsure of what to say. His joking mood from just a moment before had disappeared under a mask of uncertainty.

"I really am sorry I upset you," Madison tried to get a conversation going again.

"I should be the one apologizing," he looked up, his gaze meeting hers. "Talking about my mom is a touchy subject for me. She died when I was four. You'd think that after almost twenty-one years, I'd be okay when someone mentions her, but I'm not."

Madison was surprised he even admitted that much to her. She had expected him to play it off or simply accept her apology and move on. His confession also made her decide against telling him about how he had mistaken her for his mother the night before. And the expression on his face told Madison that he hadn't meant to even say that much.

Or to sound so vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," Madison said. She could sympathize with him. "I lost my mom when I was seven, so I understand how hard it can be. I lost my younger brother the same day. He was three."

"That sucks," Dean commented. "I'm sorry to hear that. I guess we're not so different then, huh?"

"Guess not," Madison flashed him a smile. "Now, eat up. I didn't slave over a hot stove for nothing."

"Hot stove?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "You sure it wasn't just the microwave after you opened a can?"

"Hey now," Madison tried to give him a serious look but laughed in spite of herself. "I don't do that canned stuff. This is homemade, thank you very much. Well, mostly homemade. It's my grandmother's recipe that I tweaked a bit."

Dean laughed to himself and finally tried to eat. Madison didn't dare interrupt the silence that fell around them as they ate. She occasionally looked across the table at Dean, happy that he had at least opened up to her some. It helped her to see that he really was just a guy who truly was down on his luck. What amazed her the most was how at ease she was around him despite everything that had happened in the short amount of time since he had shown up unexpectedly in her front yard. It was against her nature to trust a stranger so readily.

"Thanks," Dean finally spoke after he had emptied half his bowl. "It was delicious. I'd eat more, but… yeah, I don't think that would be a good idea right now."

"Still feeling like crap?" Madison asked.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Just a little," Madison got up from her chair and walked around to his side of the table. She ignored the look he gave her when she felt of his forehead. "If it counts for anything, it feels like your fever has gone down some."

"Are you always this touchy-feely with guys you barely know and invite into your house?"

"No, I usually prefer them to be immobilized and locked up in my house so I can sit back and admire them," Madison replied seriously, trying her best not to laugh. "And maybe torture them if they won't give in to my demands."

"Just how many times have you seen _Misery_?" Dean chuckled.

"More times than I can count. It's always been a favorite movie of mine."

"Should I be concerned about that?"

"Nah, I'm harmless," Madison replied.

"The bruise on my face says otherwise."

"Well, I'm harmless unless some jerk decides to attack me."

"Oh, so I'm a jerk now?" Dean raised a brow and smiled at her.

"Like I said earlier, you're lucky you're cute," Madison patted his shoulder. "And Dean? I meant what I said. I'll be a friend if you'll let me."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean knew Madison meant every word she said. If she didn't want to be his friend, she never would have bothered trying to help him like she had so far. He had spent nearly his whole life constantly on the move, running into the random stranger here and there. Most of those strangers turned out to be some poor possessed soul that he and his father had to end up killing.

Madison was the first person who had genuinely been sincere toward him in a long time. Her curiosity about who he was and why he was so wary of her was evident in the looks she gave him. Dean knew she had a lot of questions she wanted to ask. When they talked, he could almost read her thoughts. But how much could he really tell her before she thought he was crazy? It was bad enough she had found the two weapons and he had thought her dog was a hellhound.

Usually, that kind of behavior would have someone calling the cops. Madison hadn't even bothered. Sure, Dean knew she was at least somewhat scared of him, and she had a right to be. He had shown up unexpectedly and now he was stuck in her home until the snowstorm cleared out. Yet she practically welcomed him into her home without too much hesitation. She simply took care of him as though he was part of her family.

And that's the thought that scared him the most.

"You okay?" Madison commented from where she sat in the recliner. She looked at Dean, who had stretched out on the sofa after they had finished eating. Dean had been half paying attention to whatever tv show Madison had turned on.

"Yeah, why?"

"Just checkin'," Madison smiled and picked up the remote to turn down the volume on the television. "You kinda spaced out for a minute there."

"Sorry," Dean wasn't sure why he was apologizing. "I was… thinking."

"About?"

"You."

"Oh, really now?" Madison raised an eyebrow.

"I don't mean—" Dean tried to figure out what to say. "I just… Why? Why are you so calm about me being in your house when you knew I had those weapons? Why haven't you asked me about why I thought your dog was a hellhound? Because most people would've probably had me committed somewhere for saying something like that."

"For starters," Madison leaned toward the side of the chair, bracing herself on the arm of it. "I'm not most people. And second, you were out of your mind with a fever. Why would I hold anything you said against you? I mean, for crying out loud, you were so out of it that you kept calling me 'mom'."

Dean instantly sat up straight at her last comment. Madison dropped her gaze to the floor. It was clear that she hadn't meant to tell him that little detail from the night before. Dean tried to remember just what he could've said.

"You, uh, you begged me not to leave you," Madison finally spoke again. Her voice wavered slightly, and Dean noticed tears in her eyes. "Then you asked me if Sammy was okay, and… Dean, I don't know what on earth has happened in your life, but I have never heard someone sound as broken as you did last night. And that's why I'm not afraid of you being here. I wasn't about to just leave you to fend for yourself when you desperately needed someone to help you."

Dean took a moment to think about what she had said. He wondered what all he had said to her when he barely remembered how he ended up in her house. Madison seemed genuine enough with her intentions, but all through his life, Dean had learned the hard way that sometimes the people who seemed the most trustworthy would end up being the ones to stab you in the back or, in some cases, try to kill you.

"I really do appreciate your help," Dean said sincerely. "It's just that I have a hard time trusting people."

"I understand," Madison smiled warmly. "It's not easy to trust anyone you've just met. I've been in your position before, stuck with only a stranger to rely on. It happened about three years ago. I got into a bit of a bind, and had to rely on some man I just happened to know through a friend but had never met before. Now, he's become a friend. I don't talk to him often, but he's helped me out a few more times since."

"If it counts for anything, I'm glad that I've been able to trust you so far."

"So far?" Madison almost laughed. "Dean, I'm not suddenly going to turn on you. If I had wanted to do anything to hurt you, I could've easily done it while you were so sick last night."

Madison had a point. It made Dean realize how lucky he really was. Maybe he could fully trust her.

"Oh, look!" Madison pointed toward the window. "The sun has decided to shine. Maybe that second round of snow won't be as bad as they're saying."

"I hope not. I'm ready to get out of here and back on the road."

"Staying with me isn't_ that_ bad, is it?" Madison asked in feigned offense.

"No," Dean chuckled, finally realizing that even if he still didn't completely trust Madison, he felt relaxed around her.

It was a foreign feeling to him after spending nearly his whole life on the run, battling things that should only exist in people's nightmares. Having someone genuinely care about him was also new. It wasn't that his dad didn't care, but his dad had long ago stopped being anything more than what Dean felt like was a drill sergeant.

"Are you feeling any better?" Madison asked.

"I'd say yes, but you'd probably know I was lying," Dean laughed weakly.

"You're not feeling any better at all?"

"A little, but not much," Dean closed his eyes as the pounding in his head increased.

He heard Madison get up from the chair and cross the room. She eased down beside him, and a second later, Dean felt her hand on his forehead. The contact made him flinch from her. He opened his eyes to see her giving him a worried look.

"Sorry," she muttered, placing both of her hands on her lap. "I just wanted to make sure your fever wasn't spiking again. You're still a bit warm, but it definitely seems like it's almost gone. I can tell you're still feeling like crap though."

"That's an understatement."

"I'm no doctor, but I'm guessing you've not been sleeping well lately," Madison observed. "Would I be correct in assuming last night was probably the first time you've slept more than just a couple hours at a time?"

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I really hope I wasn't too much trouble last night."

"Nah," Madison laughed softly. "It was kind of amusing to have someone around here who reminded me of my baby brother and how I took care of him when I was a kid."

"Sounds like he's lucky to have you as a sister."

"I always thought it was the other way around," Madison's voice faltered for a second. "But he was three when he died. Losing him when I was only seven was really rough."

Dean mentally slapped himself for forgetting that Madison had already mentioned losing her brother at a young age.

"I'm sorry," Dean managed to say.

"Thanks," Madison looked at him. "Well, I better check on Remi before he either runs off or gets into something he shouldn't be in."

Dean accepted the change in subject before things crossed into a territory he didn't want to enter. Madison got up and went to the door. The second she opened it, Remington bounded inside, white snowflakes standing out in stark contrast to his black fur.

"Well, so much for the sunshine lasting," Madison commented as she closed the door. "It's snowing again."

"I still can't believe I thought he was a hellhound…" Dean shook his head as Remington padded over to rest his head on his knee.

"Well, from what I've heard, hellhounds are supposed to be black if someone actually sees one, and Remi's black fur and his size might've been intimidating while you were feverish in the dark," Madison said thoughtfully as she took a seat in the chair. "But I'm pretty sure that if anyone has actually seen one, they'd be dead before they could confirm that detail about fur color."

Dean stared at Madison in confusion. Was she joking? Was she actually serious? Did she really know such things existed?

"I've always been interested in the supernatural, especially the lore behind some of the creatures of people's nightmares," Madison answered as though she could read Dean's mind. "Guess you could say researching paranormal things like that is a hobby of mine."

"Why would you want a hobby like that?" Dean asked. "You sound a little—"

"Crazy?" she finished for him. "Yeah, I know."

"Well, I was going to say 'weird', but 'crazy' works too," Dean chuckled.

He hoped for Madison's sake that she never found out some creatures of people's nightmares were real. Dean hated to think that someone as nice as Madison could one day become another casualty to something that Dean had spent his whole life learning how to kill. He dropped his gaze down to Remington when the dog whined softly.

"I think he likes you," Madison smiled. "Which I guess is a good thing. Dogs usually know how to judge someone better than another person. And if he thinks you're okay, then I guess that means I can fully trust you too."

"Really, you're going to trust a dog's instincts like that?"

Dean couldn't believe someone would trust an animal so easily. Remington turned and crossed the room to a dog bed that was in the corner. He lay down on it, but kept his eyes on Dean.

"Yes, I am. I've had him for eight years, and he's always been right in warning me about people I shouldn't trust."

"You were right."

"About what?"

"Crazy really was the right word to describe you."

"Jerk," Madison laughed.

"I was only stating the truth," Dean smirked before lying back down on the couch.

"Uh huh," Madison grinned.

Pretty soon, Dean fought to keep his heavy eyelids from drooping even more as he tried to watch television with Madison. He could see her occasionally glancing at him, giving him a look that conveyed compassion and concern. Dean could also pick up on the hint of pity in her expression.

And it made him uncomfortable. She barely knew him. Madison had no reason to pity him. He tried to fight the overwhelming urge to just sleep some more. If he fell asleep again, he might end up talking in his sleep. Or worse, having nightmares, which wasn't too common but still happened from time to time.

"Dean, get some rest," Madison finally spoke again. "Everything's going to be okay."

"You don't know that."

"Maybe not," she conceded. "But what I do know is that as long as you're in my house, you'll be okay."

He wanted to argue that he didn't need her to look out for him. He thought better of that after realizing that she was the only reason he was inside a warm home and not frozen somewhere outside. It was her caring affection that kept causing his defensive nature. Dean didn't mean to react that way toward her, but it was the same way he reacted when faced with something new.

The last time someone showed him so much compassion, Dean had just been a child who sat in a nursery watching his baby brother play in his crib. Sadness gripped at Dean's heart when he thought of how his mother would come into Sam's nursery and let Dean climb into her lap once she had sat down in a rocking chair in the corner. Dean still remembered the sound of his mother's voice as she would softly sing to him and his baby brother.

Dean drifted off to sleep, once again dreaming of a world where his mother was still alive.

When he awoke, the sun had already set and darkness engulfed the world outside. A lamp had been turned on in the corner of the living room. The television was still on, but Madison wasn't in the room anymore. Dean could hear her in the kitchen. He slowly sat up, thankful that his headache had finally disappeared. He definitely felt a lot better now. As he stood, Madison's voice flowed into the room. It took him a moment to realize it, but he recognized the tune she was singing. It hit him like a ton of bricks. Madison was singing 'Hey Jude', the very same song his mother had always sang to him as a kid.

Dean couldn't take the rush of memories and retreated to the bedroom he had slept in the night before. He knew Madison wasn't doing it intentionally, but he felt some anger toward her for reminding him of his mother so much. But he didn't have time to really dwell on it. The sound of his cell phone ringing from the living room made Dean return to the room he had just left. He picked his phone up from the coffee table when he saw that it was Bobby calling.

"Hey, Bobby," he answered.

"Your Dad said you'd run into trouble. I thought I'd call to check on you. What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time, ya idjit?"

Dean smiled at Bobby's term of endearment. "Got caught in a snowstorm when trying to get back to one of those hunting cabins Dad and I use when we're out this way."

"You're not stuck in that storm, are you?"

"I am, but I'm with… a friend. I'm staying with them until the roads are clear again."

"A friend?"

"Yeah. Well, I've only known her since last night, but she saved my life, Bobby. And until this storm moves out and the roads are cleared, I'm stuck here at her house. My car's stuck too because I slid off the road."

"You're not hurt are you?"

"No," Dean answered, sensing Bobby's concern. "I'm just a little sick, but I'm not hurt."

"And this friend… You can trust them?"

"She hasn't given me any reason not to."

"Well, I hope for your sake, she's as trustworthy as you seem to think she is," Bobby sighed. "Your Dad should've known better than to send you out alone on a hunt like that."

"I'm twenty-four, Bobby. I'm old enough to go hunting by myself."

"Well, in a few hours, you'll be twenty-five," Bobby replied. "I was hoping you'd be back up this way so we could celebrate your birthday tomorrow. I guess it'll have to wait."

Dean hadn't even realized what day it was. Birthdays had stopped really meaning anything to him long ago.

"You know I don't like celebrating birthdays," Dean pointed out. "They're just reminders that I've managed to survive another year living a life that nobody should ever have to live."

"You're such a depressing kid."

"Yeah, well, I haven't had much to be happy about lately, have I?" Dean commented sadly. "Have you talked to Sammy?"

"I did yesterday. I called to check on him."

"At least he answers when you call. He won't answer my calls or texts, and I don't think Dad has tried to talk to him since he left."

"It seems college life is going pretty well for him. He told me he met a girl a couple weeks ago. I think he said her name was Jess."

"Sounds like he's doing all right then."

"He's just fine."

_But I'm not, _Dean wanted to add.

"Thanks for looking out for him, Bobby."

"I'd do the same if it were you, Dean. You're both like the sons I never had. Some days I swear the two of you will be the death of me, but you know I'll do what I can to make sure you two are doing all right. Sam will come around eventually. I know he's angry at you and your Dad, but he still worries about the two of you."

"Maybe I should do what he did."

"Go to college?" Bobby questioned.

"You know I'm not smart enough for that."

"Oh, cut the crap," Bobby said bitterly. "You're smart enough."

"I meant that maybe I should leave it all behind like he did," Dean tried to get the conversation back down the path he wanted to go down. "You know, try to live a normal life."

"Trust me, son, after all the things you've seen and the things you've done, there is no such thing as a normal life."

"Yeah, you're right. Besides, I'm a hunter, and that's all I'll ever be. It's all I know."

"It's something you should have never known about," Bobby said, anger tinting his voice. "Your Dad should have never let things go so far. You and Sam didn't deserve the life you've lived."

"At least Sam got out and found a way to live a happy life."

"You could too."

"Dad would get pissed at me just like he did when Sam left."

"So? Dean, if you want out, then get out. You're old enough to make your own decisions. You don't have to follow your Dad."

"I already told you," Dean sighed heavily. "Being a hunter… it's all I know, Bobby. It's no use trying to even think about leaving this kind of life behind. I'll never escape it."

"Kid, you're really bumming me out here," Bobby tried to joke. "I just wanted to check on you. And I don't care what you say, we're going to celebrate your birthday so you come straight to my house once you can get out of Tennessee."

"Yes, sir," Dean chuckled.

"And whoever this friend of yours is… I owe them one if they saved your life. Just be careful next time your Dad decides to send you off on your own, okay?"

"I'm always careful."

"Yeah, right," Bobby laughed. "I better get going. Call me if you run into trouble."

"I will. And Bobby?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For… everything."

"You're welcome, ya idjit," Bobby chuckled. "Take care of yourself."

* * *

**I apologize for such a delay in updating! Work has kept me insanely busy, and I badly injured a finger on my left hand while at work too, which made it difficult for me to type on my laptop. The injury has finally healed enough so I can start typing again. Thank you all for the reviews, follows, and favorites!**


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